


Memories

by Spaghetti13



Category: Homestuck
Genre: headcanon that alpha dave remembers the beta session, memory things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 09:34:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spaghetti13/pseuds/Spaghetti13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts out as flashes, brief snatches of colour dancing across your conscious. Quick snippets of every colour under the rainbow, and some over it too. When you try to focus on the blurry shapes the colours make, they fade out of your curious grasp like tiny butterflies darting from flower to flower continuing on to the next one once they lose interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories

Your name is Dave Strider and you don't know _what the fuck_ you are remembering.

It starts out as flashes, brief snatches of colour dancing across your conscious. Quick snippets of every colour under the rainbow, and some over it too. When you try to focus on the blurry shapes the colours make, they fade out of your curious grasp like tiny butterflies darting from flower to flower continuing on to the next one once they lose interest.

Slowly, after you've managed to give yourself countless headaches with the efforts that the burning curiosity in the back of your mind supplies you, the colours stubbornly shift into something else. The edges are still fuzzy and unfocused, and it makes your head start pounding again to try and make them clearer, but now you can see distinct shapes. Symbols, more like it.

A black circle with a red circle and a white circle in the very center focusses in first. A line of glowing yellow zigzags across through the middle and you start to feel uneasy. Then the red spreads out to cover the black and white completely and the circle gains squares on the edges. You don't know what the first thing was, but the second looks like a gear. The two blurry images send a flare of familiarity rocking through you. You know that these are personal, and you wrack your mind but you just can't place them. It bugs you near constantly for the next few days after that, a slow drip of a leaky faucet in the background or someone continuously tapping you lightly on the shoulder.

Then the next image flits across your mind and it starts your stomach twisting in blind panic, worse than if someone had reached out and grabbed your sunglasses from your face without warning but their hands were claws and tore skin off your face when they moved and bits of flesh and blood stuck to the lenses and rotting sharp teeth were looming all up close in your face and

And you really need to calm down.

As far as you know, there is absolutely no reason for you to be flipping the fuck out. As far as you know, something as simple as this stupid orange hat should not be caused you to be losing your cool like this.

You feel a stab of guilt for calling the hat 'stupid'.

With the hat comes snatches of scene, colours melting together but you don't try to make them go back to their proper places. This time you just sit back and let the colours and pictures and shapes wash over you.

You are somewhere high up with loud black birds (crows, you think) and someone flash stepping across to come at you with a sword. You catch a glimpse of orange and the colours swirl into each other, disappearing down the drain. In its place is a room; window open to the warm air, pictures pinned up on a wire, and something large and blocky in the corner. 

Red and black and white leap out at you and suddenly you know what the first circle was.

Colours flash and run again after more weeks pass. You find yourself staring at a computer screen, at lines of red and blue type. The screen fades and the red fades and the blue is left. The words themselves are unreadable but, for some reason, you can imagine exactly what they say. Then the blue melts into something else, another symbol. ' _Wind_ ', your mind provides.

Wind. 

Air.

Heir

Heir ofwind? No, that's not right, doesn't feel right.

Heir of air? Definitely not.

You are about to give up on whatever the hell you are doing here ( _what are you doing anyways_?) when something else whispers in your mind's ear, soft and laughing.

Heir of breath.

Time.

Knight of time _orange_? Nonotbut

Knight of blood; angry, yelling, red, grey scowls and nubby candy-corn horns. Insults. Constant capslock.

Seer of mind; more red, sharp, cane, glasses, blind, numbers. Chalk. Cans, drawing, laws. The ironically shitty comics you started drawing a few months ago. Wickedly smiling emoticons and an overfriendly tongue.

Titles start swirling around your head along with the colours. Shapes stand out in the background, one for each. 

Knight of time. The gear you remembered earlier. For some reason, you think this is you. In fact, you are almost positive.

Heir of breath. The symbol you identified as 'wind'. Your mind ( _memories?_ ) supply you with a face, features too blurred to make out. Black hair, glasses, dorky smile.

Seer of light. Something that looks like a detached yellow sun. A purple skull that looks more like a squiddle. Psychoanalysis, but it'scaring in the oddest way. Sister. Silvery blonde hair, sarcastic smile, headband. The face changes for a moment, skin becomes pale grey and shadowed in darkness. Fear spikes and spreads slowly and the face melts into the black edges.

Witch of space. Dog. Frogs. Juggling planets. Someone to protect. Dark brown hair, glasses, honest expressions. You can't figure out how to describe the symbol you see, so you don't even try and just focus on her face.

As quick as the faces and images started flitting across your mind, everything flashes white then red then goes back to black.

You shake your head briefly, reeling fromwell, everything, and go back to your sketches. To your surprise, you started drawing out what you remembered. The paper tears out with a loud rip and you stare at it for a moment. You sigh and, after thinking for a while, set the paper carefully aside.

That night, you dream. You dream of gliding through an unfamiliar sky. Like, literally flying. Huge-ass neon orange wings and all. You feel free in the strangest way. In the back of your mind, you know that you are entirely orange and you have a winding tail instead of legs (' _sprite_ ', your memory insists). But you don't mind.

Suddenly the dream takes a turn for the worse. You are floating, wings gently flapping ever so slowly, surrounded by black and red. In front of you is what looks like a large black humanoid dog, holding a sword with one bloody hand, black wings outstretched and sparking with green. Beside you is a familiar person holding a familiar sword in a familiar stance. Orange hat.

The dog lunges forwards, snapping jaws close to your face as you freeze, and the person beside you steps in.

You fight and the dog slices off one of your wings then runs his sword through both you and the other person's chest.

You wake up screaming.

The dreams are more frequent after that, and with more visitors than you remembered at first.

As you grow up over the years, you learn to deal with and accept both the dreams and the random bits of familiarity and memory. You keep drawing what you remember and what you see when you sleep, and the images get clearer.

By the time you find the child you deem your little brother, you remember the names to go with the faces and the faces are crystal clear.

Sometimes the memories make your heart ache. Sometimes they make you smile.

Sometimes it hits you hard enough to actually send you stumbling to your knees.

Sometimes you just shake it all off and keep going. 

Your name is Dave Strider and you remember _everything_.


End file.
